


The Gosh-Darned Page of Fucking Hope

by ohhaypsy



Series: Who Are These Douchebags? [3]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, M/M, Post-Sburb, Reconciliation, implied dirk's mile-wide sub streak
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-09
Updated: 2017-09-09
Packaged: 2018-12-25 14:49:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12038175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohhaypsy/pseuds/ohhaypsy
Summary: Dirk is changing and Jake is learning.References bothTranscendandSelf-Flagellating Masturbatory Pity Party Solo Hourbut can be read as a stand-alone.





	The Gosh-Darned Page of Fucking Hope

**Author's Note:**

  * For [zai_make_it_awesome](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zai_make_it_awesome/gifts).



> I can't edit it anymore, time to let it run free.
> 
> Suggested by [zai_make_it_awesome](http://archiveofourown.org/users/zai_make_it_awesome/pseuds/zai_make_it_awesome). Sorry about the wait, hope it lived up!

After the game, you all decide to take a breather. In some ways, it’s counter-intuitive. Whether it was six months or three years, you all had waited for everything to come to a head for so damned long that you’d think you’d be done with the idea of waiting. But the threat of the end had been looming over all of you then. 

Now the end has passed and you’re just giving yourselves some time before stepping into the next beginning.

You spend a lot of time alone for the first few weeks. Not because of anyone shunning you, the way you feared, but rather because there’s a fair bit rattling around in your head that needs to be sifted through before you’re of any use to anyone.

Jade is the one that you spend the most time with. You were young when your grandma died, as was she when her grandpa did, each of you spending far too long on your own on Hellmurder Island with only bizarre fauna to keep you company. You’re both quite excited to forge a new relationship with each other, sharing stories and interests, gardening and watching movies. It’s a quiet sort of camaraderie, mostly just enjoying sharing each other’s space.

She doesn’t say so, but you suspect that she quite appreciates the downtime from all the others. Three years of isolation (you don't count the consorts; as adorable as they are, they aren’t particularly adept at the whole conversation jazz) had left Jade eager to catch up with her friends, but easily overwhelmed by too much time spent with too many of the others. She’s confessed to you that at times she feels lost and out of place amidst the new groups and relationships formed among the others, still trying to find her footing with even John, Dave, and Rose. You can certainly sympathize. So the two of you claim a comfortable place on the outskirts of New Cantown as your temporary home, giving you the needed space from the others. 

You’re determined not to make the same mistakes again, though, and make a point to reconnect with your friends. Roxy is easy -- you’re convinced the lass is entirely incapable of holding a grudge, even considering the right mess you’d caused amongst your friends.

Jane is harder. After what you put her through, after what she put you through, even if she wasn’t in control, there’s a lot to move past. It’s an ongoing process, still, you’re both trying, and slowly but surely, the rift is healing.

Dirk, on the other hand, is as inscrutable as ever. In the past few weeks you haven’t gotten any further than you managed on the platform -- fumbling, awkward apologies and a promise to be friends again. And you are; you chat and smile together -- well, you smile, anyway -- but there’s still a damnably large distance between the two of you. You miss your best bro, and wonder if things could ever truly go back to the way they were.

Though you’re loathe to consider it, it’s completely possible that they can’t. You’d spent the lion’s share of your friendship with Dirk cruelly pretending to not notice his feelings toward you. Feelings that you’re sure were directed towards an idealization of who you were, rather than actually toward you. An idealization that the real you could certainly never live up to. And fuck if you both hadn’t gone and bungled the whole thing.

You’ve talked to him about it. Or, rather, tried to. The damned words could just never come out right! And of course Dirk attempted to shoulder as much of the blame as he could. But you were talking again, and that was a start.

Not enough, not as much as you want, but a start.

Besides, Dirk spends most of his time with Dave these days, and even you can see that the two of them have a right mountain of shit to work through together. You daren’t intrude, no matter the tiny nugget of jealousy at the idea of Dirk throwing his everything into fixing a relationship with the Bro he’d never met rather than the bro he’d known for years.

You remind yourself that the two of you are no longer just bros. You’re _ex-boyfriends_ now also, and that’s an immutable fact, a permanent mar on your relationship. You’ll never be able to _not_ be ex-boyfriends ever again.

Dagblasted fuck, you miss him.

\--

After time to yourself and plenty of soul-searching conversations with Jade, you decided to change things. You’re determined to not ignore things the way you always have. You’re determined to take initiative, rather than just let things happen to you. You’re going to learn to communicate what you want, what you need, rather than passively hoping things turn out alright. You’re the goshdarned Page of fucking Hope. You’re going to _actively_ hope and _make_ things turn out the way you _want._

And by Jove, you are going to make Dirk Strider your best bro again.

It’s going to take time and effort, that’s for damned sure. He’s skittish and cagey at first, but you persevere, even through the awkward first hang out with just the two of you. You keep it simple, just taking him out for a walk, talking about anything and everything that just happens to pop into your head. You don’t want to just ignore what had happened, but attacking it head on seems like a poor choice. And utterly terrifying, don’t forget that.

He doesn’t say much in response. In fact, he seems a million miles away, and you can’t help but frown when you notice. You stop, and it takes him a few steps to realize that you’ve done so. He then turns around to look at you, but doesn’t say anything, waiting for you to speak first.

You almost make up an excuse, some lie about spotting some strange animal or a particularly interesting tree. But no, you’ve resolved to be more forthcoming about things. So you grind out the words. “You didn’t have to come out here with me if you didn’t want to.”

Dirk has the gall to actually look startled. “What makes you think I don’t want to be here?”

“Bloody shucks, Strider, maybe it’s the fact that this is the first time you’ve looked at me since I showed up on your doorstep to drag you out for some mild bro adventuring? I know it’s not killing monsters, but if you’re that bored, I’m sure we could go rustle some up and have a proper fucking ripsnort of a time!” You almost want to go do that, just to avoid this awkwardness. Almost. Instead, you let yourself deflate. “I just… it’s been so long since we’ve _talked,_ Dirk.”

It truly has been. Oh sure, you’ve chatted since the game ended, but that’s been it since the platform. And even that had been brief and awkward, a vague promise to patch things up. In the Medium you sure as hellfire didn’t properly talk, that had been the crux of the whole kerfuckle. And before _that,_ it had been ages since you’d managed to converse without having to jump through flaming AR hoops. Shucks b-- blast it, how long had it actually been?

Dirk’s not looking at you again, but you can tell he’s making the same calculations you are, though probably with a lot more mathematical preciseness than you can manage.

Finally, he sighs, and he suddenly seems exhausted. He settles himself to sit back against a tree. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I do want to be here. Shit just got a little real yesterday and I guess I’m still processing. I _do_ want to be here. I’ll try to be less distracted.”

You frown and move towards him, dropping to sit cross-legged facing him. “By shit, I’m assuming you mean whatever business it is with Dave?”

Dirk glances at you, hesitating before nodding. “Let’s just say we’re both navigating a minefield in regard to staggeringly fucked up headspaces.”

“Dirk. It seems like you’ve got your head wedged quite firmly up your own arse and are punishing yourself unnecessarily like you always do.” You arch an eyebrow, smiling just a little bit. “Do you have your head wedged quite firmly up your own arse, Dirk?”

He’s caught off guard by your joke, and it takes a second, but he does laugh faintly. “It seems I do. Don’t worry though, I got some sense knocked into me. Or rather, shouted into me.”

“Ah, shit with Dave _and_ Karkat then. Awfully strange pair of fellows, aren’t they?”

“Not as strange as you might think. And hell if they don’t make it work, at the very least through sheer mutual obstinacy.”

There’s something unspoken there between you, but you decide to let it go. Not everything needs to be pulled out and examined immediately. The two of you are talking now, proper _talking,_ the rest will come in time. “Things are sorted now though, yeah?”

He gives you a small smile. “Starting to be, yeah.” He stands and brushes his hands off on his trousers before offering his hand to help you up. “How are things with you and Jade?”

You grin and take the offered hand. “Things are grand.”

\--

Things _are_ grand, and not just with Jade. You feel like you’re finally figuring out this whole ‘in person interaction’ business, and when it gets overwhelming, you’re learning to take a just a step back rather than hightailing it in the opposite direction.

It’s coming up daisies really. You’re still getting to know the trolls at a slow pace, your not-forebears are smashing to spend time with, (everyone groans and tunes out when you and John get onto a tear of spirited discussion about the merits of cinema,) and your existing friendships have never been better. 

You and Jane forge a new ease, a fresh start, putting things behind you. She’s teaching you to bake and you’re teaching her to shoot, and though neither prospect is going particularly swimmingly, you’re both having a dandy of a time doing it.

Roxy waves off any sort of apology, but you feel awful for having used her as an emotional dumping ground for so long. So instead you’re just there for her, no expectations or demands. The two of you while away hours together, her head on your shoulder while the two of you quietly talk.

And Dirk… it’s easy again. There’s a truce -- an actual _verbal_ truce to forgive each other for the mistakes made in your brief but tumultuous affair. But not to forget, no. You’re going to learn from your mistakes. 

He’s your best bro again. You did it. You made it happen.

You spend time at the Strider-Vantas-Strider home more and more often. There’s a strange sort of domesticity between the three fellows. Whatever Dave and Karkat call themselves -- which is apparently just ‘Dave and Karkat’, and their eyes roll whenever someone uses a different term -- you view them as an old married couple. They snipe and argue with each other, but are also open with their affections toward each other in a way that fascinates you.

You find yourself alone with Karkat one day without really meaning to. Dave is off paling about with John, and your intention was to meet up with Dirk, but you’d underestimated how long he would take to get ready. You truly should have known better.

So you sit at the kitchen table with a mug of tea, watching Karkat putter about, grumbling to himself, more or less ignoring your existence in his home. You wonder if he’s put out by your presence, but then remember that he wouldn’t hesitate for even a moment to tell you so if that was the case. Tell you very, very loudly.

For all your time here, you think it’s the first time you’ve spent more than a few moments alone with Karkat. Most of your knowledge of the troll is through his relationship with Dave and unexpected friendship with Dirk. As much as Dave and Karkat are a package deal, and Dirk and Dave are thick as thieves, it’s _also_ unsurprising to walk in on the troll letting forth a truly inspired stream of swearing about whatever video game Dirk managed to beat him at most recently. It’s exceptionally bizarre, considering the tenterhooks the two of them had been on originally.

But with how much time you spend in his home, you suppose you should make an effort to get to know him. “So how goes the ol’ city planning business?” It’s a safe place to start, you figure; he works closely with Jade and the strange little Mayor, setting up infrastructure for the rapidly growing New Cantown, and laying down plans for the future. You’d heard plenty of anecdotes from Jade about the shenanigans that involved.

Karkat stops in mid-grab of an empty Doritos bag -- he must spend an awful lot of time cleaning, living with two Striders -- to stare at you as though you were some sort of strange creature. “Fine…” he says, but it sounds closer to a question than a statement. 

For such a verbose fellow, he’s not giving you much to work with. You clear your throat and clumsily hide your discomfort behind a sip of tea. “Good to find a productive way to keep yourself occupied. Lord knows we’ve all earned some old-fashioned R&R, but there’s only so much hanging about a chap can handle before getting a hankering to do something. Dirk and I have done a fair bit of exploring, but there isn’t much need for trail-blazing with the likes of Jade and Calliope and Kanaya already knowing where everything is instinctively. Space players, am I right? Though Dirk and I have at least managed to--”

“English, shut your fucking nonsense-dribbling facepocket before I come over there and shove that tea holder down your windhole.” The words are a snarl, unsurprisingly, and Karkat now has his arms crossed, Dorito bag clenched in his fist as he glares at you. “What are you getting at? Is this about Dirk?”

You nearly choke, not having expected that at all. “Wait, what? Land sakes, what are you on about?” 

Karkat’s expression is a mix of shock and confusion. “You don’t-- Seriously? Fuck, I knew you were dense, but just how oblivious can you be? You two practically share an airsac, how in fuck’s name have you not _noticed?”_

The insults make you bristle some. “Now see here! I don’t have the foggiest fucking clue what you might be referring to, but maybe if you--”

Footsteps on the stairs interrupt your indignant rant, and the both of you turn to see Dirk entering. He looks slightly wary. “You two playing nice?”

Karkat doesn’t give you a chance to respond, and is back to more or less ignoring you, instead glaring at Dirk now. “Look who’s done with his interminable shower. There better still be hot water in the tank, you selfish bulge-muncher, I’m just about to do dishes.”

Dirk smirks, moving to take the Doritos bag from Karkat’s hand, picking up a few other pieces of trash to toss in the rubbish bin. “Wouldn’t dream of coming between you and your need to satisfy your ablutomania.”

“Fuck you, Alpha Douche, like you have any room to talk. I’ve seen how much shampoo and body wash you go through in a week; you’ve probably blown half our collective grist alchemizing that and your shit hair product.”

“Don’t see you complaining about Dave’s shit hair product.”

Karkat’s skin darkens in what you’ve learned to recognize as a troll’s version of blushing, but doesn’t lose any wind out of his sails. “Are you going to fuck off with English so I can get shit done or what?”

Dirk’s head moves in a way that suggests he’s rolling his eyes, and something pings in the back of your skull. “Alright, look at us, here we go, fucking right off.” He adjusts his gloves, and gives you a ‘come along’ gesture as he heads for the door.

You follow, Karkat’s grumbling and snarling following you until the door is closed. There’s something odd going on, and for the life of you, you can’t quite manage to put your finger on it. “Hateful sort of fellow, isn’t he?”

“Karkat? Nah, he’s full of shit. I don’t think he’s actually capable of hating anyone. C’mon, let’s go down to the beach.” He smirks at you, and with a small jump, takes to the air. You quickly follow suit, before he can leave you behind.

But there’s still that odd feeling niggling at you, and you cannot fucking figure it out. 

\--

It finally occurs to you -- Dirk is different, and you wonder just when in Aunt Betsy’s name _that_ happened. And why it took you so long to figure out.

He emotes. Not much, but compared to the stone-face you’re used to, he might as well be wearing his every emotion right on his often-non-existent sleeve. His smirks are closer to smiles these days, his chuckles almost laughs. Even his body language is more languid. Especially around you and Jane, moreso around Roxy, and even _moreso_ with Dave and Karkat.

He seems almost… relaxed. You always knew he was as tightly wound as the most coiled of springs, but you never before realized just quite how _bad_ he really was. Even you’re not dense enough to have not realized by now that the self-assurity you’d always associated with him was almost entirely a front to mask gaping insecurities, his obsession with control a way to hide his constant fear of fouling up. You might have needed Roxy to spell it out for you a bit, but you at least can recognize it now. Which is why, once you notice the new ease, you’re absolutely flabbergasted that you hadn’t before, because consarnit, it is _noticable._

It’s far earlier in the morning than you’d prefer, but Dirk’s dragged you out because he’s got a bizarre fascination with katana training while the sun rises. You suspect it might be because you had once mentioned it made him look like something out of a kung fu movie.

So you sit cross-legged on the ground, cleaning your guns. You face east as the sky brightens, Dirk little more than a silhouette as he steps through his katas or whatever he calls them. His movements are fluid, but his steps are slow, so different than the way you're used to seeing him move. Even so, he’s still as careful, as deliberate and measured as ever. But it’s different. 

You shift so you don’t have to stare into the sun to watch him. You’ve seen him go through these steps what feels like a thousand times, but you’re noticing new things on this go around. His mouth is slightly open as he breathes, and his eyes are closed behind his shades, you think. There’s a different slope to his shoulders, a different tilt to his head. He doesn’t look over his shoulder, or over at you, lost in his practice.

Your guns are forgotten, and you sit there, watching, feeling like you’ve got the pieces to a puzzle, but having no idea what the picture’s supposed to be.

Dirk stops, probably realizing you’re watching him, rather than cleaning your guns. He uses his forearm to wipe sweat from his brow, and you watch the way the muscles under his Hella Jeff tattoo shift and flex. You know you’re staring more intently than you probably should; you can see Dirk shift his weight and rub his palm against the thigh of his pants. 

He’s uncomfortable. You’d forgotten what it looked like. 

Before he can say anything, you stand, sliding your guns into their holsters. “Let’s scrum.”

The two of you haven’t really sparred since LoTaK, and Dirk’s caught off guard by the suggestion. Good. He hesitates only a moment before twirling his katana, then crouches down into a defensive stance, waiting. That was odd; he never waited for you to make the first attack.

But you shake your head, and undo your thigh holsters. “We’ve got plenty of practice with weapons, how ‘bout a bit of good ol’ fashioned fisticuffs, eh?”

Again, hesitation, before he puts away his specibus. There’s another long moment of silence as he adjusts his gloves. “You’ve always been better at hand to hand.”

You grin -- it’s the truth. Dirk is strong, but Striders are lean, relying more on speed than brute strength. He outpaces you by miles when he’s got his katana, but the two of you are much closer to evenly matched when unarmed. False modesty aside, you’re a well-built bloke, and what you lack in speed you make up for in staying power and muscle. “Well, your win tally is a fair bit longer than mine, so give me this one?” You stretch and crack your knuckles, then put your fists up. 

He smiles, and something gnaws at your stomach. It’s an expression you’re really not used to seeing on him. “You’re still gonna have to earn it, English.” And again, he’s on defense.

There’s a trick to fighting Dirk, at least when it comes to good ol’ fashioned rough housing. He’s got reach, all limbs, and is probably the fastest being who’s ever existed. He darts in and out, dodging your blows while managing to land solid hits on your back and sides.

The trick is simply managing to get your hands on him. You imagine you look quite the fool, reaching out to grab the place where he was just a fraction of a second ago, but you know how to take a hit, and just have to keep your endurance until you manage to get a hold on him.

Then it’s just a matter of _keeping_ a hold on him. He’s quite the slippery devil, and wriggles out of your grasp more than once, playing it safe for a few before dashing back in. 

You finally manage to kick a leg out from under him and with a shove and some wrestling, you've got him face down on the ground. You pin one hand to the ground with your knee and twist the other behind his back. And it’s probably unnecessary, but you use your other hand to shove his head against the ground. 

Neither of you have ever played nice when it comes to scrapping.

Your chest is heaving with exertion, and your shirt is sticky with sweat. It's not often Dirk Strider is bested in combat, and the feeling puts you on top of the world. You grin. “Uncle?”

He squirms, and you tighten your grip on his arm, then lean more over him, putting more pressure on his hand. Not enough to damage; you've got more control than that. “Uncle?” you repeat, lower.

His voice is strained. “Yeah, alright, fine, Uncle.” You relish your victory for another moment before releasing him. He takes a few breaths before rolling over onto his back. You don’t move, your breath catching in your throat.

Dirk was an attractive fellow, you knew that. But stars and garters, you’d forgotten how he looked like _this._ Hair mussed, mouth open as he tried to catch his breath, face flushed. Shades gone, orange eyes wide and pupils dilated.

Dirk Strider, prince of cool and collected, looking a hot. Fucking _Mess._

You’d only seen it once before, and you do the same thing you did then. You push him back into the dirt and kiss him. Hard.

He gasps into your mouth, understandably startled, not responding at first. You almost pull back, second-guessing your impulse. But then his hand is in your hair, kissing you back with fervor. He arches under you, all need and desperation. And holy toledo, is it friggin’ _sexy._

It’s probably one of the stupidest things you’ve ever done, and that’s saying a lot. You’re exes. You’ve talked about the way both of you drove the relationship into the ground, how it was best to leave it in the past for the sake of your friendship. And here you are, cocking it all up.

Welp, it’s too late to take it back now. Instead you slip your tongue into his mouth, one hand cradling his neck while the other grips his hip. In for a boonbuck, in for a boondollar, and all that. Besides, he’s not exactly stopping you, his other hand clutching your shoulder to pull you close, one knee lifting to press against your hips. 

It was never that you didn’t _like_ Dirk like that. His attention was flattering, even if it could often be overwhelming. You found yourself mesmerized by his wit, his skill and control, but were intimidated by it at the same time. Best bro or not, Dirk was untouchable. He always seemed to know just the right thing to say while you tripped over all your words.

But like _this…_ He’s pulled apart, and it’s all for you. Because of you. Restrained, self-reliant Dirk, vulnerable and needy in a way he never lets himself be, for _you._ Part of you is discomfited by the fact that you find it so god-darned attractive, but it’s drowned out by the heat roaring through the rest of you.

You’re sporting quite the woody by now, and with a shift of your hips, can feel that Dirk’s in a similar spot himself. But when you gasp at the feeling, Dirk’s eyes snap open. You can see the panic for half a second before he shoves you back, hard, and scrabbles out from under you, leaving you to fall clumsily to your elbows.

You look up, and what you see makes your chest tighten in shame. 

Dirk is sitting with his elbows on his knees, eyes shut tightly while he pinches the bridge of his nose, as though fighting off a migraine.

Cheese and Christ on a cracker, Jake English, you really have fucked it all up, haven’t you? Slowly, not wanting to startle him, you shift up to a kneeling position, and swallow hard. “...Dirk?”

“Shut _up,_ Jake.” The words are snapped but they sound more like a plea than an order. He’s trying to calm himself, breathing in deeply through his nose, holding it, then letting it out slowly through his mouth. You follow his instructions, twisting your fingers in your lap to hide their shaking.

The silence is painful as you wait for his say-so to speak, to do something, _anything._

Finally, he stands, and your heart leaps into your throat as you look up at him. He doesn’t look back. His expression is blank, locked down tight, just like the old Dirk, the image completed as he grabs his shades off the ground to slide them back on. Your heart slides down to settle like a weight in the bottom of your stomach. He doesn’t say anything, just ups with a hop and flies off. Leaving you there, making it very clear that you’d completely undone any progress the two of you had made as friends.

\--

Four days later, Roxy texts you.

TG: jake  
TG: jake  
TG: ilu jake but wtf were u thinkin

You gently apologize before blocking her.

Dirk hasn’t responded to any of your messages. It feels pretty shitty on this side of things, and that thought makes you feel even worse.

\--

You stand at the door to the Strider-Vantas-Strider home and swallow hard, trying to ignore the urge to flee this time. It’s your fourth attempt today and even in your determination you can still feel your legs trying to skidoo right the heck outta there. It’s been over a week since you saw Dirk. When you… kissed him. Well not so much kissed, rather since you shoved him down into the dirt and gave his mouth what for with your own mouth.

Golly fuck you’re terrified. Dirk must hate you, and you sure don’t blame him for it. After all this time working on your friendship, working past your failed relationship, and you’d just kicked it all in the nads for a spot of tonsil hockey because Dirk Strider looks unfairly sexy when disheveled.

You don’t want to do this. But you can’t hide anymore. Not when Jade frowns at you when she sees you moping about at home. Not when Roxy’s still blocked from trying to comfort/scold you. Not when Dirk is hurting from something you did. Jade told you that no one’s seen him besides Dave and Karkat. He’s retreated into himself, when he’d only just started to emerge from his own head, and it’s all your fault. 

But at the same time… you’re having a hard time regretting it. This new, more open Dirk is downright fascinating, and you want to see more. In a see-with-your-hands sort of way, but at this point? You’ll take what you can get. You just hope you haven’t ruined your chances with either.

Finally, you knock. Three times, each one successively less sure.

When the door opens, it’s Dave standing there, and he looks surprised to see you. At least you’re guessing that’s what the arched eyebrow means -- damn Striders and their damn inscrutability. His hair does look a bit mussed, but other than that he’s as carefully put together as ever. He lets you inside and closes the door behind you, barring your escape route. “What’s up, English?” he asks, as though he can’t guess exactly why you’re here.

“DO NOT TELL ME THAT JAKE FUCKING ENGLISH IS ON OUR DOORSTEP,” Karkat screeches from the other room -- you look past Dave to see the troll struggling to pull a shirt on, too frantic to realize that he’s trying to shove his head through a sleeve. Obviously, you’ve interrupted something. _Lovely._

“Course he’s not.” Dave shrugs at you before going back into the other room. “I let him in.”

“YOU _WHAT?”_ The shriek is muffled by fabric before his head pops out of the right hole. Karkat’s glaring at you, but the menace is lessened by the fact that he still hasn’t managed to get his arms through the sleeves. “You’ve got a fuck lot of nerve just-- FUCK DAMN IT, DAVE, HELP ME, YOU MONSTROUS TOOL.”

“Nah,” is Dave’s reply as he smirks, watching his boyfriend (or whatever) wrestle with a basic article of clothing. You’d be more entertained if you weren’t convinced you were Karkat’s next target. He looks ready to shred the shirt with his teeth like an angry dog, but focuses long enough to finally get it on properly. Well, mostly properly, it’s still on backwards.

He either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care, his ire focused on you now rather than the shirt. He’s not advancing, but resumes his tirade. “What the fuck are you doing here, English, haven’t you--”

 _Pap._ Dave’s hand lands directly -- but gently -- in the center of Karkat’s face. “Babe. Bro. Shoooooossssh.” Karkat’s skin darkens in embarrassment, but he stops as Dave pats his face. This must be the infamous shoosh-pap from the pail quadrant you’ve heard tell of. Are you witnessing something scandalous? You’re not sure. 

Dave gestures with his head toward the basement door -- Dirk must be working. Hazarding one last glance at the glaring, blushing Karkat, you make haste through it, leaning back against it once it’s closed. 

“You’re really just letting him go down there?!” You suppose that this is Karkat’s version of ‘hushed tones,’ still clearly audible through the door. Even straining to hear, you can’t make out Dave’s mumbled response. “Don’t you fucking tell me how things work I am the goddamned _god_ of relationships and he just--!” _Mumble mumble._ “No, listen to me, Dirk has been--” _Mumble mumble mumble?_ “Dave, quit it, I’m not--!” _Muuuuuumble, eyyy._ “Stop trying to distract me it’s not going to fucking work, Dave, you can’t just--”

Karkat’s words are interrupted by a strangled groan, and you can feel your face heating at the idea of just how Dave is distracting Karkat. You’re terrified of talking to Dirk, and mortified at the idea of Dave and Karkat getting saucy on the other side of the door. You have a nasty feeling that Dave’s killing two birds with one bang here -- keeping Karkat occupied and keeping you in the basement. You’re considering living the rest of your life at the top of these stairs.

No, English. Straighten your tie, pull up your big boy pants, and go down there and apologize to your best friend for letting your tongue attempt to colonize his mouth. A breathy curse from the door lights a fire under your arse and you head down the stairs.

The house is the only one in New Cantown with a basement. Despite its status as temporary housing, Dirk had been quite adamant about having a proper workshop. Before, all of his robotics work had been done in his bedroom. Spending the first sixteen years of his life sequestered in a one bedroom apartment in the middle of an ocean had left him quite eager to explore the concept of _space._ Even so, you know he often sleeps down here, despite having a bedroom. The old habit of working until he passes out is one that’s hard for him to break.

As you quietly descend the stairs, your hand sweating on the railing, you see that’s what he’s done now. He’s at his work table, slumped over with his head resting across his folded arms. Both his shades and a pair of over the ear headphones are skewed on his head in a way that does not look particularly comfortable. His face is screwed up into a frown, and you assume it’s because the bass thrumming from the headphones can’t be particularly conducive to sleeping. He can’t have been asleep for long. You wonder how long he’s been awake.

You want to leave. You tell yourself it’s because he obviously needs his rest, but the truth is you’re scared of the way he’s going to look at you. You glance at the stairs -- you could go back up there, pretend you’d never come down here in the first place.

No. You’re doing this. You’re making this happen. 

Quietly, you approach Dirk, scared to wake him. It’s lucky for you he fell asleep with the headphones on, or else he would have snapped up the second you opened the door. You can get close to him this way. You crouch down next to his chair, taking a moment to watch his sleeping face. His mouth is slightly open as he breathes.

Land sakes alive, he’s beautiful, even with his face scrunched up like an angry baby. You can’t help it; you reach to let your fingers slide over the back of his neck, appreciating how soft the ungelled hair there is.

“Jake.”

....Oh. Oh, fuck he’s awake now. He’s so still, eyes open and staring at you through his shades. You did not think this part through.

Your instinct is to pull back when he sits up and takes the headphones off, but you quash it. You’re committing to this. So instead you move with him, rising up onto your knees, hand settled on the side of his neck. You want his shades off; you want to see his eyes.

Even with them on, you can tell he’s nervous. “Jake, what are you doing?”

“I’m sorry, I know I’ve gone and bollocksed things up royally, but just hear me out, please?” You don’t wait for an answer. You don’t stop to think, just letting the words roll out of you. “No matter what, Dirk, you’re my best mate, and that matters to me more than anything. So even after I’ve said my piece, you can tell me to fuck right off and that will be just dandy. Well not dandy, but I’d understand. And I’d still be there, ready to be your best bro as long as you can stand to look at me.”

You pause to swallow hard, but Dirk stays silent, watching you. “I know it’s never going to be the same again; I don’t _want_ things to be like they were before the game, before we really knew each other. It’s real now, you know? You know I’m not some intrepid adventurer and I know you’re not some unflappable robot. I _like_ that. I like knowing that you have feelings, more than you’re likely to admit. It… it helps. It helps to know that I’ve got to stop being a coward or else I’m going to hurt you, because hurting you is downright unconscionable!”

You can feel Dirk’s pulse raise under your hand. “You’re not--”

 _”Hush,”_ you say firmly, hand sliding around the back of his neck as if to hold him in place. “I might be getting better, but I _am_ a coward, or else I wouldn’t have let you leave without a word. I know you like to carry the whole damned world on your shoulders, but that was _my_ fault. I threw that at you and didn’t say anything, didn’t try to explain.”

Dirk looks like he wants to say something, but isn’t sure what. It’s strange; he always seemed so confident over text, always knew just what to say. But once you all met up in the Medium… he was so quiet. It occurs to you now that had been the first time he’d ever spoken aloud to another person. Both he and Roxy had grown up just as isolated as you, but you’d had your grandmother, and Roxy at least had her chess people. Stunted conversationalists or not, it was still something. Dirk had… Hal. And that was less conversation and more an ambitious experiment in self-flagellation.

Whillikers, how stupid could you be? You let your hand drop from his neck to settle on the armrest. “I know it’s probably hard to trust me after things got so rightly fucked between you and I. All I can do is promise that I won’t make the same mistakes. But… Think we could give it the ol’ college try again? ”

“Jake, we talked about this--”

“I know we did, and I’ve reconsidered,” you say firmly. You reach up for his shades -- he tenses but doesn’t stop you when you remove them. To your surprise, he looks less nervous and more absolutely _exhausted._ Not tired -- well, that too -- but exhausted in a way that sleep can’t cure.

He’s been agonizing over this the same way you have.

“You don’t have to do this, Jake,” he says softly, averting his eyes from you. You don’t know what to say to him. You know you don’t have to, you _want_ to. You want to give it another go with Dirk, because even though it hasn’t been long, you’ve both changed and grown so much, so far from the bumbling twats fumbling at what they thought a relationship meant. You’re still bumbling twats, of course, but at least you’re more self-aware about it.

You don’t know what to say, and even if you did, you doubt he would listen. So you don’t say anything. Instead, you set his shades off to the side, and cup his face in both of your hands, pulling him to you as you arch up to kiss him. This time, there’s no hesitation before he returns it. It’s gentle but earnest, slow and warm. It’s not nervously chaste the way most of your kisses had been, or even desperately hungry the way it was a few days ago. You lick into his mouth, and he slides forward to settle in your lap.

And the two of you just snog for awhile. Guards relaxed, inhibitions down, just taking the time to taste and touch each other without any real intent. You’ve never kissed him like this before, never held him like this before, and now you’re not sure you ever want to stop.

The kiss does end eventually, but Dirk stays straddling your lap while you hold him close to you, his face pressed into your neck while you slide your fingers through his hair. You listen to his steady breaths and just marvel at how different it is already. Dirk Strider, letting you _hold_ him.

The silence goes on a touch too long, however. “Dirk?” you mutter against his ear. “I can practically hear you thinking.”

He inhales deeply and starts to pull back, but then thinks better of it and tightens his hold on you. “I want this.” His voice is muffled into your shoulder and you have to strain to hear him. “I mean, fuck, I want _you._ Even after things got all fucked up and we decided it was best to be friends. Then suddenly you got more confident and assertive and _better _, and it was fucked up because we had decided not to, but I just wanted you _more,_ and I did a shit job of hiding it from you.”__

____

____

You decide not to correct his appraisal of your observational skills.

He’s tensing in your arms, lifting his head but still not looking at you. “I’m okay with just friends, you’re not obligated to try and reciprocate my feelings. I bullied you into it last time and--”

 _”Dirk.”_ You tighten your grip in his hair; his breath hitches as he turns a bit red and my isn’t that an interesting reaction. You file that away for later though, now just using your grip to force him to look at you. “Stop. Just stop. I didn’t ever _not_ want you. I got overwhelmed and was an ass about it, we’ve been over this. So just once more -- do you promise to let me have my space when I need it?”

Dirk hesitates, then gives a short nod.

“And I promise to be honest with you. To tell you if something is wrong as opposed to hiding away.” You loosen your grip and gently slide your fingers through his hair, smoothing it while he instinctively leans into your hand. “What else do you need from me to convince you to give us another go at this?”

He looks away from you with a frown and a tendril of worry curls in your belly. When Dirk gets an idea in his head, you know how hard it is to dissuade him. If he is convinced the two of you can’t work things out…

But when he turns back to you, his expression is… sheepish, of all things. “Just… remind me sometimes? That you want this. Want… yeah.”

You want to scoff. To think that after all this, he would need a reminder of you wanting him would be mad. But luckily, you think before reacting, something you don’t always do. You think back, and accept what a reasonable request that is considering your history with Dirk. It’s something he needs to hear from you. 

So you nod, nigh solemnly. “Okay. As long as you remember that I’m trying, even if I foul up here and there. I’m not perfect.”

He smirks -- just slightly -- and you know you’ve opened yourself up to a jab, but thankfully, he lets the opportunity slide by him. Instead, he nods.

The grin that splits your face must make you look like a right lunatic, but if Dirk thinks so, he doesn’t show it. You lay your hand on his cheek in a proper gentlemanly manner. “May I?”

This time, Dirk _does_ roll his eyes, and the way he grabs your face and kisses you is anything but gentlemanly.

\--

You and Dirk don’t shag. Though the fooling around you do does give you some ideas for your future mutual deflowering.

But mostly, the two of you talk. Mutual, open, honest gab about feelings. It’s strange, but also exhilarating, knowing that someone is there to really listen to you talk. And being that person for someone else.

You also touch each other. In a non-salacious way, that is. Well, in addition to some salacious touching, anyway. But you’d never before realized how hungry Dirk was for physical contact. It makes sense, considering how isolated he was for so long. But the two of you hadn’t much physical closeness before, and you kick yourself again for being such an oblivious nincompoop. Dirk tells you to shut the fuck up with his tongue.

When the two of you emerge from the basement, Dave is on the couch, shirtless, with a sleeping Karkat sprawled across him, clad in the shirt Dave had been wearing before and a pair of bright red boxers. Dave says nothing, but gives you a thumbs up. Dirk glares at him, probably for sullying the innocence of the poor couch. If there was any left to sully.

Dave gives him finger guns.

Dirk walks you to the door, and you both stand there for a moment with shy smiles. You let your hand slide down his arm, and give his hand a brief squeeze, then promise to text him before leaving.

You’d say that you feel like you’re walking on air, but to someone capable of flight, that doesn’t mean a whole lot. Even so, you feel light-headed, unable to keep your stupid grin from your face. When you return home, Jade doesn’t ask, just grins back at you.

You don’t wait long to pull out your phone to message Dirk, giddy and eager to do so despite having just seen him. Though, you remember to unblock Roxy first, to tell her the good news. But it seems that Dirk has gotten to it first, because there’s already messages from her waiting. 

TG: omg jake  
TG: lookit u2 talkin like grown ups  
TG: my bbys all grown up and off to save china  
TG: so proud  
TG: deets plz  
TG: ;)

Still grinning, you message Dirk instead.

**Author's Note:**

> Jake is hard to write and Karkat is a dirty dirty scene-stealer.
> 
> Thanks for reading! Feel free to throw other suggestions at me that fit in with the rest of my garbage.


End file.
